


and under day-old sheets

by propernoun



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Infidelity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:12:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5290196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/propernoun/pseuds/propernoun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>In his head, Arthur makes a list of things he thinks he might love about Gwen – the arch of her spine; her veracity; her hands pressing against his shoulders – after the second time.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He files it next to the litany of things about Merlin he's never said he adores.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	and under day-old sheets

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/9322.html?thread=5897578#t5897578); original longer prompt [here](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/9322.html?thread=5565802#t5565802). With apologies to The Maccabees and Arab Strap for the title and a line, respectively.
> 
> For those interested, I've changed a few words from the original.

(This is how it begins:

The District line is suspended for some unexplainable reason and for a second Arthur thinks _no, no, no; please god no_ because he vividly remembers a day in July 2005, turning on the radio in the office, and he never wants to experience that again. Then a message about _an earlier failure at Edgware Road_ is put through the speakers and that's all right then, he thinks, exhaling in tandem with the woman next to him.

He's late for supper, though; a note on the kitchen table says _At the pub with Gwen. Reheat something from the fridge, TWAT_ and he feels a bit guilty at that.

Merlin is suitably pissed for a Thursday night when Gwen rings the bell, and when he stumbles into the flat Arthur just barely catches his wrist, strokes his forearm absentmindedly. Gwen smiles and it's a bit brilliant; Arthur grins, hiding his face in Merlin's hair. The front door closes and he stares at it for a minute, until Merlin's weight slumps against him.

He dreams about curls and freckled cheeks.)

 

-

 

Their bed smells of Merlin's shampoo and it's lovely, it's comfortable, it's so very _warm_ –

it's nothing like the way he knows he sometimes looks at Gwen.

 

- 

 

They kiss on a dare and it's sort of wonderful, tracing the outlines of someone else's mouth.

Later, after the whispers of _oh_ and _shit_ and _what is this?_ the guilt will press the thrill back, just barely.

 

-

 

In his head, Arthur makes a list of things he thinks he might love about Gwen – the arch of her spine; her veracity; her hands pressing against his shoulders – after the second time.

He files it next to the litany of things about Merlin he's never said he adores.

 

-

 

It's not _falling out of love_ so much as it is _falling in love_ , really.

 

-

 

They have the conversation on a Thursday, fifty-two days _afterwards_.

Merlin is working, fingers dancing across a keyboard; Arthur breathes in rhythm with each press.

'Do you think –' he begins, without really thinking, 'Do you think you can be in love with more than one person?'

Merlin's eyes don't leave the screen. 'Yes.'

'Merlin,' Arthur says, ' _Merlin_ ,' and there must be something in his voice because Merlin knocks his cup over and watches the tea spill over the table with a set jaw.

'Who?' he asks, and _oh_ , Arthur really doesn't want to do this.

'I –' and he doesn't know what to say because how does he explain something like _this_? 'Gwen.'

Merlin snorts, but his eyes are hard when they meet Arthur's.

' _Oh_.' He flexes his hand and for a second Arthur thinks he's going to hit something – _someone_ – but Merlin just digs his fingers into his palm. 'The truth is important, I used to think.'

Arthur presses his fingers to his cheeks; pushes them into the wet skin so hard he's certain there will be bruises. He wants to tell Merlin _I'm sorry; I'm so, so sorry_ but the only things he manages are whimpers.

'Monogamy was always _your_ favourite word,' Merlin says and looks away. Arthur puts on his shoes and tries not to make any sound at all.

He isn't surprised to find two boxes of clothes and books outside the door when he comes back; every shirt folded neatly and novels in alphabetical order.

Arthur tosses his key into the letterbox before he leaves.

 

-

 

He gets an email three days later: _I'm keeping the flat_ is all it says, and Arthur doesn't know if his hands shaking means _relief_ or something entirely different.

Morgana never rings and it's uncomfortable for Arthur but devastating to Gwen. They spend a weekend with fingers tangled and muttered reassurances and don't think about whether it's supposed to be so difficult, _this_.

 

-

 

There are good days: days when Arthur presses kisses against Gwen's stomach and it's soft and welcoming and everything his father ever wanted for him; days when he remembers how she takes her tea and she smiles into his shoulder; days when he wakes up with the sun in his eyes.

For a few weeks, he thinks that _yes, this is it exactly_. Five weeks, maybe six, before he catches Gwen mumbling Morgana's name in her sleep and wonders if that might make sense, too.

 

-

 

(They never talk about the way their mouths say maybe against necks and hipbones.

 _There are only absolutes, son_ , Uther used to say. Arthur thinks that perhaps he was wrong.)

 

-

 

They are having breakfast the first time _doubt_ hangs over their heads: heavy raindrops fall against the kitchen window and it's so wretchedly _appropriate_ that Arthur wants to draw the blinds.

'I love you,' Gwen says and he doesn't want to think about how the timing is completely wrong, 'I've always loved you.'

'Me too,' Arthur manages. His mouth is dry. 'Not enough, though, is it?'

'Where's your romance?' Gwen asks and grimaces, just a bit.

'I don't know if I was ever romantic,' he sighs, because he doesn't know what else to say.

Gwen nods, slowly.

 

-

 

He lets himself think about Merlin a lot more after that.

 

-

 

On Morgana's birthday Arthur wears tailored trousers and polished shoes; there are things that are _expected_ of him and Morgana is his sister, still.

He doesn't bring Gwen. He doesn't really ask her to come and it's probably better like that, they both know.

His aunt claps his shoulder with a stiff hand and Arthur recognises the disapproval even before he sees Nimueh's set lips. It hurts more than he would like it to, and for a moment Arthur aches for his father even though _he_ would have turned his back completely, his face whispering of disloyalty.

'I'm having drinks with Merlin and his boyfriend later,' Morgana smirks and it's so _bitter_ that he almost wants to mention Gwen out of spite.

He doesn't; Arthur isn't a good man, but he desperately wants to be.

 

-

 

(This is how they end it:

A brush of fingers and a suitcase filled with clothes; whispers of _regrets_ but not _mistakes_ because Gwen tells him, resolutely, that she refuses to make them into an error, as though they were something shameful.

'It's just time,' she says softly. 'It'll pass.'

Arthur mouths _Morgana_ to her before he leaves; her eyes widen and she looks at him like she wants to respond in kind.

He is relieved that she doesn't.)

 

-

 

Lance buys him an inadvisable amount of bitter and it's probably a mistake to go to the pub that's just round the corner; every time Arthur sees flushed cheeks and black hair his stomach clenches. In the corner of his eye he notices a straw-coloured head that looks like it could belong to someone who used to be a friend of _someone_ and it's so painful, this, not knowing how to move in a familiar space.

'I don't think you've been very happy for months,' Lance says, almost in passing and presses his elbow to Elaine's side.

Arthur looks at them, at the traces of complete devotion in her face and the uncomfortable grip Lance has on his glass, knuckles white; wonders if that was how they looked, sometimes, _before_ and realises that it doesn't really matter if he's thinking about Merlin or Gwen because both press thick bile up his throat.

'I know.'

 

-

 

There are traces of _sometimes I miss you_ on every street corner and in every face in the tiny part of London that used to be theirs.

For half a second Arthur thinks that maybe he would be happier if he left Newington Green.

 

-

 

It takes him seven weeks to call Morgana; another two pass before she decides to answer her mobile.

 

-

 

There is a party and everyone is invited; Arthur doesn't mention how Lance has never been particularly good at diplomacy even though he really wants to. Morgana nods at him when he arrives, her hair brushing across Gwen's cheek and it's a relief to see that some things are maybe the way they are supposed to be.

'I don't think Merlin is bringing Kay,' Gwen says and that's all their interaction amounts to that evening; Arthur tries to taste something other than very slight pleasure on his tongue, but his mouth refuses to form around the names and _Merlin and Kay_ is so uncomfortably foreign that he really doesn't try very hard.

It's much later when he does approach Merlin, and Arthur's made certain that he is at least a little drunk, almost tiptoeing around the table in the front room as though he's scared of everything in the enclosed space.

'Hi.'

Merlin barely nods, but his shoulders tense for just a second when Arthur sits down a few feet away and clears his throat.

'I –' and _god_ , he really should have rehearsed this, 'I meant to talk to you.' He doesn't say _I wasn't sure if you wanted me to_ but when he looks at Merlin he thinks it flashes across his face anyway.

Merlin swallows and presses back into the sofa.

'I'm afraid I'll say something stupid like _I miss you_ , you understand?'

'I miss you,' Arthur says, before he can think about what that means, hand hovering an inch above Merlin's, ' _I miss you_.'

Merlin rises and takes a step towards the hallway, and if he moved any closer Arthur could reach out, stroke his thumb against a wrist.

'And I don't know what to do with that information.'

 

-

 

Suddenly it seems that Merlin is _everywhere_ ; but then, maybe he always was.

 

-

 

When Morgana stops tossing around _Kay_ like it's just another word they're having dinner, all of them, and Merlin tells him – in a moment Arthur assumes is a little defenceless – that _it was not because of him_.

He knows that much is true.

 

-

 

Arthur gets thoroughly sloshed more often than he used to:

'I've got a list,' he murmurs ( _slurs_ ), 'A list of things I forgot to tell you.'

Merlin looks thoughtful for just a second.

'Not _I'm shagging our mutual friend_ , then?' It's a little bitter but he almost smiles, lips turning soft around his smirk.

There's a half-empty bottle of vodka tipped towards a vase of orchids. Arthur isn't sure when Morgana started getting flowers.

'No,' he says, slowly, because _this is important_ , he's certain, 'Things I loved about you. Stupid things.'

When he shifts his weight his shoulder bumps against Merlin's elbow.

'Stupid things?'

'Just –' Arthur mumbles and tries not to focus on the way his fingers flex around the neck of his beer bottle, 'That it takes you half an hour to buy the paper because you know the newsagent is lonely so you always have a proper chat with her. I love that.'

'Things like that?'

'Things like that,' he replies and looks up.

'I promised to myself that today I would do something I'd regret,' Merlin whispers and kisses him, quickly.

Arthur breathes into his skin before Merlin leaves.

 

-

 

(When they were seventeen Arthur had woken up with Merlin in his bed; with a day-old ashen aftertaste in his mouth and promises of _cocking this up terrifically_ breathed against his hair.

He had interrupted Merlin and said that _we don't need to promise each other anything_.)

 

-

 

On a Sunday he almost forgets that he hasn't got a key any longer:

Arthur's hand wavers in front of the door; he makes a fist but that shakes, too, back and forth until he's knocking without really meaning to.

With the first inch of an opening the sun blinds him; somewhere in the background Arthur hears Kirsty Young and he thinks _oh, Radio 4_.

'That's another thing,' he says to the interstice, 'Another thing I love. That you only listen to middle-aged radio.'

Merlin kicks the door open, arms crossed; everything about him seems so familiar and it makes Arthur's skin prickle until Merlin's body tenses into a stressed line that's uncomfortably foreign.

'Gwen a massive fan of Fearne Cotton?'

Arthur doesn't say _I haven't got a clue_ when his hand almost reaches out but ends up pressed against his thigh instead, sweat sticking to wayward fibre.

'I think I'd forgotten about everything,' he says instead.

Merlin asks, 'Everything?' on an exhale.

'You. And – well. What beginnings are.'

He can practically hear Merlin biting the inside of his cheek.

'It wasn't like I thought it would be,' Arthur tells him and traces the lines in the palm of his hand.

Merlin rolls his head to the side; his sigh is almost lethargic but his words are clipped.

'Is anything?'

'I don't think I know what expectations mean,' Arthur says.

'Then maybe you should learn.'

He flinches when the door closes and stays absolutely still until he hears the lock turning.

 

-

 

It's May and nine months past –

Morgana and Gwen take a holiday.

 

-

 

The first time Merlin steps back when he is at the door Arthur's head has been murmuring of _leaving something out_ for three weeks. At the kitchen table his mouth tries to form around something like an apology.

(It's almost enough.)

'This is the thing,' Merlin sighs, 'I'll become comfortable and you will be bored because you're impatient and you've got less than no attention span.'

'Maybe we know better now.'

'Do we?' Merlin wrinkles his nose; Arthur's skin feels too _tight_ and he wants to scratch at it until there is nothing left but shadows of _please_ and _let me try_.

'I don't like promises,' he says and inches just a little bit closer. 'I'd rather have faith.'

Merlin snorts and shifts his eyes to the window for a second, tries to hide a smile.

'I don't believe in God,' and it sounds like a speech Arthur remembers really well.

Merlin presses his lips together, gaze flickering from his hands to the hallway to the plethora of papers next to his computer. They breathe in rhythm and with every exhale Arthur thinks he can taste something familiar on his lips.

'I don't like surprises,' Merlin says and closes his eyes.

Arthur tries not to think about reassurances.

'I know.'

There is another fifteen seconds before Merlin looks at him. (Or maybe it's four minutes – _time is an illusion_ , everyone knows.)

'Okay.'

' _Yeah_?'

'Yeah.'

Arthur leans in.

 

-

 

(This is perhaps where no endings end.)

 


End file.
